Harry Potter and the Fates of Death
by ObsidiansTwilight
Summary: Harry Potter dies, and dies again. Now death sends him back once more to get it right. Otherwise the fate of all creation will be turned to ash. powerful, not godlike Harry, mild bashing ok alot of Ron bashing, non-manipulative Dumbledore, Harmony new fic
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter and the Fates of Death

Prologue

**Authors Notes**

**This is just a new story that wouldn't leave me alone unless I type it, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer**

**Ms. Rowling was kind enough to create a world in which I could twist and transform her characters to my taste, sadly I don't receive any compensation from this but if I did, I'd cuss the hell outta my boss.**

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><p>A young man sat in a plain Spartan office, as a secretary scribbled stoically on a thick roll of scrolls. The young man placed a hand on his forehead as a resounding and awful pounding thundered in his head. He groaned inwardly as the secretary's methodical scratches of her quill did nothing to alleviate his pain. The headache felt as if he had walked head first into an oncoming train.<p>

He looked around and studied his surroundings to take his mind off the pain. The small office he was in was completely bare, outfitted with only a small chair, which he now uncomfortably sat on, and the desk the secretary was sitting behind. A small window lite the room, its sparse light shining on a pitiful plant, hanging limply on to life.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.

The secretary's writing drew the young man back to the woman. Black hair pulled back tightly into a bun, her lips were puckered into a no-nonsense grimace, which reminded the boy oddly of his aunt.

He started to feel woozy, as he swayed in his chair, forcing himself to stay upright. Gripping the arms of his chair he wondered how he got here. Through the haze of his headache he could vaguely remember fighting someone. Yet the pain in his head kept him from remembering just who?

The secretary cocked her head to the side, poised as if she was listening at something. A long thin eyebrow rose as she turned to look at the young man.

"You may enter now," she said, gesturing towards a door, which moments before hadn't been there.

The young man got up wearily, nodding in confirmation. Long fingers ran through an unruly set of soft raven hair. A long black robe of unrecognizable material adorned his six foot frame. The fierce headache pounding in his skull threatened to blurry his vision as his hands closed around the door knob.

'Here goes,' he said to himself, opening the door and walking into the unknown.

The secretary looked up, watching the young man walk through the door. Her quill stopped its writing for the first time in centuries.

"May death take us swiftly if he's our best hope," she said to herself, picking up her quill she continued writing, unimpressed with the dark haired youth.

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><p>He walked into a dark room, a wooden chair sat underneath a bright light. A desk placed in front of the chair was occupied by a man. Short black hair and beard neatly trimmed, the man was dressed in a black suit, his fingers steeped as he gestured to the chair.<p>

"Please seat yourself Harry Potter."

Harry sat in the chair, his headache causing him to stumble into his seat. "Sir," He said as politely as he could, "Why am I here, last thing I remember is..." he thought hard, he couldn't actually remember anything.

The man eyes started to glow red as he slammed his hand on his desk. Harry winced at the sudden intrusion of sound, as the pain in his head increased.

"Silence!" The man said in anger.

Harry looked at him in confusion, why was he so angry? "Sir," he said placidly, "If you coul-"

"I said silence!" The man roared. Standing up the black suited man paced around his desk, glaring at Harry. "I did not give you leave to speak."

"How many times have we done this? How many times have you sat in that very chair, with that same stupid look saying the same stupid thing."

Harry was now even more so confused. He had never met this person a day in his life. He had never seen this place before or even been here before. The pain in his head redoubled, he couldn't even remember how he got here.

The man went back to his chair, hands spread over his desk, staring angrily at the confused Harry. "Go on and say it," he said to Harry, "Say the same damn question you say every time we meet, say it!"

Harry brought a hand to his head, rubbing his temple. Not understanding the anger of the man, "Where am I?"

The man tilted back his head and laughing sardonically, "There it is, that's the question." Sitting down the man smoothed back his short black hair, adjusting his bright red tie. A cup of a steaming liquid appeared before him; taking a sip he raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"And what is wrong with you this time."

"I have a headache" Harry replied through clenched teeth.

The man mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'of course you would'; placing down his cup the man clapped his hands. Harry bracing himself for the pain he was sure was coming was surprised to find his head completely clear, pain free.

"As to where you are," the man said, acting as if nothing had happened, "You are in one of the many auxiliary supplicant offices of the soul transition wards in purgatory."

Harry took a mental step back at the information, "What?"

The man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Every time, every time you get more and more stupid." placing his cup to the side he looked directly at Harry, his eyes flickering red in the dark room.

"Harry, you are dead," all the anger leaving his voice.

Harry leaped out of his seat shocked, "What are you talking about, what kind of hoax is this, I'm not dead."

"Really," the man said tapping his finger against his desk, "Would you mind telling me what's the last thing you remember?"

Harry sat back in his seat, his mind much clearer without the headache, thinking back to what happened before he appeared in the office.

_-Flashback-_

_He was so tired, be had been running all night. The Death eaters had found his safe house and set it ablaze, destroying everything. An anti-disapprating jinx had kept him from disapprating leaving him with only one option; he had to run._

_Dragons overhead burned down the forest around him, boxing the young wizard in. Trolls and Giants appeared deep in the forest, searching. It seemed Voldemort had pulled out all the resources looking for him._

_"Don't I feel special," he whispered._

_He stopped running; there was nowhere else to go. Hundreds upon hundreds of Death eaters surrounded him, magically and physically exhausted Harry Potter raised his wand in a dueling stance, ready to die._

_"So this is all that remains of the Order of the Phoenix," a voice said from the crowds of Death eater. Harry readied himself as a figure stepped forward._

_Harry snarled angrily as the mask was pulled back and the grinning face of his friend was revealed, "Ron."_

_"You never understood what it was like to live in the shadow of someone, Harry." Ron said as he idly twirled his wand._

_"All my life I've lived under the shadows of my brothers, and then you. The boy who lived, the great Harry Potter." Ron face twisted in to an ugly grimace as he spit out the last word as if he had a nasty taste in his mouth._

_Harry looked around desperately for an escape, "Your family Ron, you betrayed your family." Harry took a step backwards, there was an opening between two Death Eaters, and maybe he could make it._

_"What about them, they deserved to die," Ron grinned in triumph, "Now I'm not in anyone's shadow."_

_"Ron they killed Ginny," Harry said sadly remembering his girlfriend, "And Hermione, she was tortured, you're siding with their murderous."_

_Ron shrugged, "Necessary causalities," he said nonchalant. _

_Harry turned and ran, making a beeline towards the gap of Death Eaters. He had almost made it when suddenly a spell hit him squarely in the back. He hit the ground hard, shattering his glasses and sending his wand flying off into the darkness. _

_"Tut tut tut," a silky voice said from the shadows, Voldemort stepped out from the darkness._

_"Where are you going my little Potter?"_

_"Master," Ron said, bowing and backing away slowly._

_"Ronald," Voldemort said, a pale pasty arm lifted beckoning him closer. "Come here and deliver your justice."_

_"Usually Potter," Voldemort said idly twirling his wand, "I would see to your demise personally. Yet Mister Weasly here desires your death more than I do."_

_A malevolent glint shone in Ron's eyes as he came upon the prone form of former best friend. A concussion curse hit Harry, forcing himself face down on the plush forest floor._

_"Now do you see Potter," Ron snarled as he delivered a swift kick to Harry's abdomen. _

_"I'm the hero now," a mud covered boot caught Harry full in the face. Harry almost passed out when he felt his nose break in a sickening crunch._

_"Ron," Harry said through a mouthful of blood, "Why, are you doing this, we're best mates." The concussion curse kept him from getting up, the young Potter cursed silently to himself for letting his wand fly out his hand._

_"Why?" Ron eyes flashed in delirium as another angry kick caught Harry in his side._

_"I'll tell you why," Ron got on his knee, his fist raised high in the air. Voldemort gave a low dry chuckle at the antics of his new Death Eater._

_"All through Hogwarts," Ron's fist caught Harry on the side of his head, "From first thru seventh year, she had only eyes for you." _

_Who was he talking about? A sharp piercing headache rang in his head. Blood matted his hair, veiling his eyes in a misty ruby haze. Harry struggled to stay conscience as Ron's fist repeatedly hammered his skull. He was only dimly aware he was about to die. Surrounded by Death Eater, Voldemort and his best friend, death would be a blessed release._

_Ron was breathing hard as he finally stopped his assault. Sweat poured down his face in waves as he looked at what was once his only friend. _

_"Damn you Potter, why couldn't she love me?"_

_"Enough," Voldemort said in his sickly sweet voice. With all the grace of a snake he glided up behind Ron, placing both hands on his shoulders he whispered in his ear. "Finish it."_

_Harry was only barely able to turn his head to look at Ron. Death was coming swiftly, as his pain was fading. He relished it, he welcomed it. All his life he danced with death, now in this unnamed forest. Hunted and tracked like an animal, betrayed by his best mate he could only feel sorrow. _

_'Ron,' he thought bitterly, 'I feel no anger for you; I only hope you will one day see the error of your way.' The teachings of Dumbledore was so ingrained into his being that even in this dark hour he could only see the light in his friend._

_Ron gripped his wand so tightly, blood started to flow from his enclosed fist. Was that pity in Potter's eyes? How can that filthy half-blood pity him, a pureblood? He, who was now standing over him, the famous Harry Potter. Damn him, damn him, damn you Harry._

_Raising his wand, Ron pointed it at the pitying face of Harry._

_"Do it," Bellatrix shouted from the on looking crowds, the Death Eater roared in encouragement. Voldemort eyes flashed a dark red as he gestured for Ron to finish him._

_"Any last words Potter?" Ron growled._

_"Just a few," Harry coughed, spitting out a few bloodied teeth._

_Looking at Ron in his eyes, "What would she think of you?"_

_Ron roared as his wand tip glowed a bright green. His anger, his hate, years of repressed emotion releasing itself in one powerful spell. _

_"Who cares what she would think, Hermione only love you."_

_Ron's last words were drowned out as the bloods from Harry's head entered his ears. Closing his eyes, Harry relaxed his body, 'I'm coming Sirius.'_

_Damn you Potter, you bloody burn. Ron released his spell, cutting his final link with humanity. The bright blinding green light left his wand, echoing a vast deep rushing sound, an invisible something soaring through the air, as he said the most deplorable taboo words in wizard kind._

_"Avada Kedavra"_

_-Flashback End-_

"I see now," Harry said, his hand gripped his knee tightly as he looked straight ahead.

"Do not worry about it," the man in black said, waving his hand in dismissal. "We all get betrayed at some time or another."

"Aye, but he was my best mate," rubbing his head he looked at the man, "How could I have forgotten that?"

The man in black linked his fingers looking at Harry seriously, "The dead need not concern itself with the living."

Harry ran his hands through his hair, his mind a roller coaster of questions. "If I'm dead then what am I doing here?"

The black clothed man look intently at Harry for a minute before speaking, "Harry do you know how many times we have sat in this very room and had this very conversation?"

Harry shook his head, "No sir."

"Of course you wouldn't," the man said, "You never remember."

Suddenly a thick book landed on his desk. About five inches in width and twenty inches long, it was, Harry thought to himself, anything but a light read.

"What is that?" Harry said, glancing at the huge tome.

"This," the man in black said as he opened the first page, "Is your Death Book."

Harry raised is eyebrow at the announcement, "My what?"

Tapping his finger on the book he gave Harry a leveled look, "listen closely, because I absolutely hate repeating myself." The men in black pointy choose to ignore the fact that he had spoken those exact words countless times before.

"There are some souls born who are meant to do great things. Where the deeds of their greatness must come to pass. Sometimes, a very special soul is born, a soul whose actions must come to pass."

He tried to explain it as vague as possible; it bodes ill if Harry knew too much.

"In the great tapestry of life and death, Harry, you are perhaps the greatest work of art. Some souls, like you for instance, are sent back if you have 'unfinished business'.

Harry shook the cobwebs out of his head, maybe remembering his death affected him more than he thought, and "What are you talking about, what does all this mean?"

The man in black clicked His teeth, "You, Harold James Potter, have died about fifty four times."

Placing a finger on the death book he started to read, "Umm let's see, your first year you dodge and rolled straight into an incoming spell. Really boy, you ever heard of side stepping.

In your second year, on your thirteen death, you were crushed by a falling statue."

Harry's head started to reel with the information.

"In your third year, your twentieth death, mauled to death by a rouge werewolf. Particular nasty one if I remember correctly."

Harry placed a hand on his forehead, did he really die all those times, had he really lived this long because they were sending him back?

"Ahh here we come to the meat, it's in your fourth year is where the bulk of your death takes place."

"I get it," Harry mumbled.

"Burned alive, asphyxiation, drowning."

"Alright," Harry said louder.

"Electrocution, suffocation, blunt force trauma, stabbed in the chest with your own wand."

"By Merlin, I get it!" Harry yelled.

The man in black calmly set the book down his voice steady in rising anger, "No I don't think you do get it. Do you know how much backed paperwork I have because of you? The stress you have given me would have killed me if I wasn't already dead. You humans, especially wizards have such a callous disregard for life, it's disgusting."

The man in black raised a finger, looking critically over his charge, "Once more, I can only send you back one more time; we no longer have the power for repeated trips."

Harry sagged back into his chair, confused, "I thought you were all powerful."

The man in black raised an eyebrow, "For all intent and purposes, I am. Tell me Harry what do you know of Voldemort's ultimate plan?"

Harry thought for a minute, "To rule all of wizardkind and enslave all muggleborn witches and wizards."

"Close Harry, you are very close. But I'm afraid it's more sinister than that. Even more sinister then we were able to realize until it was too late. Harry you've been in purgatory for almost a hundred years. Your last transaction took a very long time. And in that time Mr. Tomas Marvolo Riddle has breached the walls of life and death."

Harry felt cold treacle of fear slide down his back, "What does that mean?"

"I'm afraid that Mr. Riddle seeks to challenge the creator."

"Can he do that?" He said shocked, "Is that even possible."

"We didn't think so at first either," the building rumbled almost knocking Harry out of his chair, "Ahh so it has started."

"What is going on?" Harry almost shouted, his voice shaking in fear.

"Voldemort has found the creator, come here we have not much time."

Harry got up, making his way to the desk as the building rocked and rumbled around him. A black box sat on the desk, about twelve inches long, the magical aura Harry felt coming from it felt powerful and oddly familiar.

"Harry Potter, in all your lives only one thing has remain constant. Only one thing has been with you throughout your many battles." Placing his hand on the box he started to open it slowly.

"The Fates have agreed to give you this, you are very fortunate the sisters made this for you. The Fates usually dint give out gifts." There in the center of black box rested a long eleven in wand. The man in black eyes flashed a blood red as he continued speaking, "I assume you know what this is?"

"My holly and Phoenix wand," Harry breathe as he upon the wand in wonder. He had only just realized he did have it with him.

"Magic is a very potent thing," the man in black said, "It's an always ever changing, shifting moving entity. You are very lucky indeed Harry Potter, that wand has all the collective knowledge of all your fifty four lives."

"What does that mean," Harry said in bewilderment.

"I am forbidden to give you your memories; the creator has made that quite clear. But all the spell knowledge and skill you have acclimated over you lifetimes are in that wand. And if I remember correctly in one of your lives you lived to 150. So use this wisely"

The worlds suddenly seem to stand still. As if all time had stopped. There was the unmistakable feeling of wrongness in the air.

"Something's different," Harry whispered, scared to speak higher.

The man in black frowned as he looks at the ceiling, "The top floor has fallen, and the universe is in mourning." Grabbing the wand out of the box the man in black pressed it into Harry's hands.

"It seems your Voldemort works quicker that any of us thought, he has defeated the creator."

Harry felt numb at the proclamation, if Riddle had won, then what hope did he have?

"We have to move quickly, there isn't much time." The sound of a breaking door and the shrieking screams of the secretary were heard.

Harry started towards the door, "We have to help her!"

The man in black reach out gripping his arm tightly, "Fool she's already gone, pay attention we only have seconds." Harry nodded a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"When you leave here you will have only the vaguest of memories about this place. In fact to you it will only seem as if it was only a dream of a dream."

The man in black looked over Harry's shoulder as his doorknob started to turn. "I want you to remember one word; I want you to say it over and over again in your mind. I want you to remember the word Articvatio."

"I got it," the door started to open slowly, "Come on we have to get out of here." Harry said, the word Articvatio repeating itself in the back of his head.

There was a glint of steel in the black clad man eyes as he gripped Harry shoulder's, "I'm staying here boy, this is my place and don't you come back here for another two hundred years."

The man in black's voice started to fade, "You better win this time Harry, otherwise Death is the least of your worries."

The door was violently shoved open as black robbed figures roamed in.

The last thing Harry remembered before darkness overtook him was the bright green lights of the killing curse.

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><p>Dumbledore's hand snaked out and grabbed the floating parchment. The hall was a hush of silence as he read the name out loud.<p>

"Harry Potter!"

Harry looked up from his plate as all the teachers and students turned and stared openly at him. Did he just call my name?

"Harry," Hermione hissed, "You better get down there."

The sound of a spoon hitting a plate distracted him as he looked into the jealous face of Ron, 'Great,' Harry thought, 'Just what I need.'

Harry almost felt sick as he got up from the Gryffindor table; Dumbledore just called his name for the next Champion, there has to be some mistake.

He made his way down the rows of students, self-consciously aware of the stares directed at his back. Headmaster Dumbledore gave him a questioning look as he gestured towards the back room.

'What in the name of Merlin was going on?"

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><p><strong>Authors Note's<strong>

**Ok so here's my new story, if you can't tell by now, I dislike Ron. If that offends anyone, please feel free to let me know so I can tell you in greater detail about how in feel about him. In every Potter book, every one, he betrays Harry in some way. :(**

**Anyway this is my take on the Harry meets death and goes back plot, I know it's been done but I've never wrote a potter fic and this one seems interesting.**

**Please review and subscribe. Any tips, flames or words of encouragement would be greatly appreciated. Thank You**

**ObsidiansTwilight **


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter and the Fates of Death

**Authors Notes**

**This is just a new story that wouldn't leave me alone unless I type it, enjoy. Hahahahaha, I know its been awhile but please enjoy.**

**Disclaimer**

**Ms. Rowling was kind enough to create a world in which I could twist and transform her characters to my taste, it's her playground, and fanfiction allows me to play there :)**

-A Hundred Years into the future-

Power.

It was a dream, a desire. Sought by many since the dawn of time. The allure of such temptation, inciting wars, rising and felling kingdoms, giving birth and destroying lives. Men and women throughout the ages have fought and died for the simple pleasure of having; power.

And it was power he so craved, and at long last it was power he was going to have.

Lord Voldemort stood triumphantly before the mysterious Veil in the Department of Mysteries. Surrounded by hundreds of his most loyal Death Eaters.

Ninety years ago he had destroyed his most hated enemy, Dumbledore. With his death the wizardly world had all but fallen in months. The Ministry fell but a heartbeat later, giving him the power over all of Magical Britain. Yet it wasn't enough.

Soon all of Europe felt his wrath. Muggleborn and squibs, if not outright killed in the initial purge, were unceremoniously forced into slavery. Magical creatures were abruptly and without remorse killed. That was when the Order of The Phoenix made a thorn in his side. Many of his Death Eaters were killed after Harry Potter started rallying support from the magical populous.

The boy, though only partially trained proved a surprisingly formidable opponent. No one, save the senile old coot Dumbledore, had survived more then five minutes in duel with him. Not only has their battles lasted frustrating hours, but the brat always manages to escape. Escape and yet escape again. Potter and his Order was a nuisance that had to be quickly remedied.

Unable to kill him, Voldemort went after his heart. Killing all of his Hogwarts school friends was O so a task he enjoyed all too much. The screams of that Know-It-All, bushy haired mudblood, only seventy years earlier, still sent shivers of pleasure coursing through his body.

Voldemort let his vermillion gaze fall upon Veil, eyes cloudy as a bloody mist. Yet even though he killed all his friends, the Potter boy continued to fight. And fight he did, for nearly ten more years.

It was when the boy had reached his thirtieth summer that Voldemort had recruited Harry Potter's most trusted friend, Ron Weasly.

Voldemort let his eyes drift from the veil to let them rest on the hunched form of the aforementioned person. At 115, the years were none to kind to Ronald Weasly. His back once strong and straight, was now twisted and gnarled. Vibrant lush velvet curls that formerly adorned his crown were replaced with thin wispy gray strains of brittle hair. Wrinkled skin looking but all too similar to parchment paper, ripple and layered on top of protruding feeble bones.

Ron dragged himself in front of his Lord, prostrating in deference. "Master," the last Weasly croaked out, "It's almost time my Master."

"Excellent," Voldemort said, his voice dark and rustic as he stroked his wand, letting his gaze settled back on the veil, "Notify me when it's time."

Ron nodded his head, backing away slowly, "Yes Master."

Ron turned towards the crowds of Death Eaters, signaling out one among the masses.

"Darby," Ron wheezed, pointing at a tall lithe Death Eater.

A shadow detached itself from the wall of Death Eaters, from his folds, Darby revealed small brittle book, presenting it to his captain.

"As you have commanded," Darby whispered his eyes down casted towards the stone floor. He knew better then to look at captain Weasly in the eyes. Although the Captain of his Lords Voldemort Death Eaters was a frail man of his downward years, the old wizard was clearly not weak.

Whatever dark rituals the Dark Lord had done to the red haired wizard, had dramatically increased his magical powers. Increased to such a degree, that not even the near legendary Bellatrix Lestrange, could match him in a duel.

And that was a duel, Darby remised darkly, that he would hope to never have to witness again. So many dark and dangerous spells were released in that duel, only five years passed, that most of the spectators went insane. Himself included, it took months for the healers to retrieve his mind from the brink of insanity, and he was quite positive that all of him wasn't back.

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><p>Ron held the book delicately in his hands, the low burning flames of the candle light made of the words across the books spine: Book of the Fates.<p>

A book telling of a doorway, a doorway that can only be opened once a millennium. At an exact time, an exact place. A doorway that leads to the place of souls, to the home of those who have died.

Ron looked over at his master; he would follow his master anywhere. Even literally into death. He had killed, murdered, raped and destroyed. All at the bidding of his Lord. It was a powerful devotion he had towards his master, one that he once shared to a certain raven haired wizard.

"Harry Potter," the old man croaked as he rubbed his hands across the cover of the book. He had loved Potter like a brother, but he loved Hermione more.

Although it may have been his Master who had ended Hermione's life, it was Potter's who had killed her, surely as if he delivered the fatal spell himself. The night before she had died, he had confessed to her, the love he had felt for her for all the nine years he had known her. Yet she had spurned his love, with tears in her eyes she said she loved another.

She didn't say who, she didn't need to. He knew, he had always known. Everybody loved Potter. His parents, his brothers, Ginny and now Hermione. He watched her go that night, to Potter's side, the half-blood Potter oblivious to her love.

The next day she was killed, and with her death, for him that severed the bonds of his and Potter's friendship. And over the next ten years that once strong powerful brotherly love he had for his best mate was turned to hate, which led to Potter's downfall. And his death.

Ron watched his master, like always shadows clung to the dark Lord like a kingly cloak. Dark red eyes glared out from the gloom of a menacing cowl. He made his way to Voldemort, the awaited time at hand. Only one person could open the doorway of the veil. The creators of the veil didn't want anyone to enter the veil, so they set upon it a condition. A condition that removed every living and nonliving creature from ever opening it. A condition that said, to enter the land of the souls one must be without one.

Fortunately, Ron thought, kneeling at his masters feet, Lord Voldemort had long since cast away his soul. "It's time Master."

A noise emitted from the cowl of his Lord, it was a sound of pure evil that sent shivers of fear throughout the mass of Death Eaters. Some of the weaker ones fainted, a few never to awaken again. None had heard the noise before, save the youngest Weasly. He would never forget that noise, for he heard it once at the death of Harry Potter, it was that noise that for years would wake him in the dead of night in cold sweats, a noise that to the day he die he would have nightmares about; it was the sound of Voldemort laughing.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord said, "Open it."

* * *

><p>Another soul fell to his wand as Voldemort made his way towards the top. The killing curse doing wonders on the fleeing souls. Flashes of green lights was seen everywhere as his Death Eaters released their spells.<p>

Power, he was getting closer, an insect of a soul got in his way. The nuisance was quickly remedied with a wave of his hand. Sending the soul flying thru the wall and into the murky darkness beyond, screams of terror following its decent.

Power, he was getting so much closer, he would battle the creator, and wrest control of creation.

Power, another step, and another step. A door blocked his way, it was unceremoniously blown off its hinges, the most powerful Dark Lord in history not even bothering to raise a his wand as he stepped through the wreckage.

"Power," he whispered, almost in delirium. Not just this world, but all worlds. He will have it all, and when he controls it all, when all that is, is under his fist, "Everything shall burn."

* * *

><p>The creator stood in the center of the room, eyes turned inwards, watching with a sad heart the deaths of the angels. Born from the union of necessity and need, the creator has always been. The creator had weathered the universe from unseen threats, for countless years. Yet it had known, from the moment of its birth that this day would happen. Known from the first spark of the universe that that same spark would be threatened to be extinguished. And as the creator had known since the beginning of time, the one called Voldemort stepped through the door.<p>

"Well this is quite a surprise," he whispered, extracting his wand from the folds of his robe. "The Creator is but a child, little girl."

The creator turned to look at the face of evil, "It's a form I'm most comfortable with." The creator was dressed simply in a pure silver gown, brown hair rolled down her back in waves, yet that wasn't her most distinguishing feature.

Voldemort stepped closer. "I once killed a mudblood who looked exactly like you."

The creator touched her face; sadden at the loss of one of her dearest child, taking on the face of her most treasured witch. The mortal named Hermione Granger, one of her greatest creations, now gone. Hermione soul ripped from her body and cast to oblivion, for that was the true power of the killing curse.

"My Tom, you must not do this," she pleaded, sincere tears pooling in her eyes. "There is still time to turn back.'

Voldemort moved closer, "Never," the Dark wizard spat, "Never call me that filthy name again."

The creator lowered her hands, she knew pleading with him was a vain attempt, but she had to try. She knew exactly how this was going to end, she foretold it, seen this conversation in here mind every day since time began.

Cupping her hands together the creator breathed into her palms, soft and sweet the smell of flowers filled the air. A ball of pure light appeared in her hands, she held it up, beckoning to the dark wizard.

"Look into the light.' She all but begged not for herself but for him, "Behold the wonders of the world, a world you seek to destroy."

Voldemort moved closer, his wand held out, ready to deliver the killing curse. Curious he looked into the orb of light. Suddenly smells, colors and visions flashed in his mind.

The wailing screams of a baby being born. The delicate form of life beginning.

The transitions of a caterpillar changing to become a butterfly.

An old man lying homeless on a curb, a stranger coming up offering him a place to live.

Life, love, beauty, all these things were shown to the Dark wizard, and for just a second the creator saw a glimmer of something spark in the hollowness of Voldemort soul. The dark lord reached out grasping the holy sphere in one hand.

"Was this what you had in mind, was this the most powerful attack you could conceive," he rasped. With a flexing of his arm The Dark Lord shattered the orb, the ball of light snuffed out by the darkness.

The creator had known it wouldn't work, yet for her children, for all the children that would come, she had to try. She had hope, for it was hope that she delayed the passage of the only one who could stop The Dark Lord. She had seen his face before she was even born; she had known more about him then himself. Before humans walked the earth, she had already seen his entire life.

The only human that ever was outside the realm of her understanding, the only human to ever give her hope. When she held him as a baby, before he was sent to the world to be born, she absolutely knew he was the one. The boy who would challenge a dark wizard, the man who would contest with a dark god.

Voldemort pointed the wand at her face, and for the first time in living memory, he allowed his lips to curl. A slight mockery of what could only be a smile.

"I care not for beauty, I only desire power," his wand started to shake as he built up an unnecessary amount of magical energy. "I'll show you my power."

The creator nodded sadly, not everyone could be saved. "Do it," she said, "But beware the crime of killing a god."

Voldemort brushed away her empty threat. The creator was just that, a creator, she had not the power to destroy. He had no fear of her, he never did. The time for words was over.

"I've always wanted to see if a god can be killed," he said, almost lazily, as if the killing of a god was an everyday occurrence.

The creator smiled contently as she felt something deep within her being, 'Ah' she thought, 'He has the wand.'

"I hope someday, that you would see the error of your ways." She said, "One day, your soul may be mended Tom and tha-"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off as Voldemort released his long awaited killing curse, "I told you bitch, NEVER call me that."

The creator's body flew through the air from the impact of the killing curse, dispersing in a golden mist before disappearing all together. A slow sad melody began to play, a serenade of melancholy.

Then he felt it, power. It flooded his being, permeated his existence. He could see all, feel all. He was the ceiling the ground, the plants the animals, he was the sky, the world the universe.

Power.

Power.

Power.

And the he laughed, he had it all. He was immortal, powerful beyond measure, he was a God. Not even the few angels left could stop him, or the one puny human.

Human?

Voldemort turned his eye inward as he watched a very familiar wizard receive a wand. He recognized that wand, for he had its brother.

Potter.

Knowledge was at his command, he knew their plan, to send the boy back and undo all his work. That will never happen. Voldemort willed himself to the last Potter, intent on forever ending his enemy.

"What is this?" Voldemort eyes narrowed in anger as he realized he was still on the top floor. Once again he opened his vast expanse of knowledge. Then he felt it, a shield, the most powerful ever made, it was wrapped around him anchoring him in place, binding his powers.

"That bitch," he snarled.

He screamed in frustration as he struggled against his binding, the building collapsing as he watched the potter boy being sent back in time. Everything went dark as the dark lord howled in anger, his eyes turning white hot in their anger.

In a desperate ploy he gathered all his new godly powers and flung open a door in time. He was shackled, chained to this room, this time. He could not go, but his memories, his dreams his thoughts and impulses, they could be sent. Before the door swung shut he forced all his being through time, all he was, and all he is and could be. The door slammed shut, unable to handle the stress of the collapsing universe, leaving the god in darkness.

The Dark god started to laugh, he could feel it, he had won; now all he had to do was wait.

And in the pitch black darkness where once the light of the creator once shone as brightly as a thousand stars, the maniac laughter of God once known as the Wizard Tom Riddle, could be heard.

* * *

><p>Harry finally made it to the portrait of the fat Lady. Since leaving his table and joining the other champions his emotions was a roller coaster of activity, the strongest being confusion.<p>

He was confused because he had no idea how his name was called.

Confused because of the hostile glares of his fellow champions.

And most of all, confused at the blinding blistering headache, which now ravished through his head, leaving him dizzy as he stumbled past the portrait. Remembering all too well his encounter with the other champions.

_-Flashback-_

_Harry made his way into the small room, slowly and solemnly, as if walking to his death. The walk seemly all too familiar as a walk to the gallows to the messy haired wizard._

_Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair._

"_Yez, do zey need us." Her voice flooded the room like liquid honey. Having different reactions to the other champions._

_Cedric Diggory eyes widen, his body betraying him as it became aroused at the Veela's charm._

_Victor Krum, the gruff modern day Viking crossed his arm, staring through the wall. His flush cheeks betraying his thoughts_

_Harry unaffected stood in the doorway, completely oblivious the Veela lure._ _She thought he had come to deliver a message. Harry didn't know how to explain what had just happened. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were._

"_Ah no," Harry murmured disbelieving, "Professor Dumbledore just named me the fourth-"_

"_The fourth Champion," Ludo Bagman, bellowed happily, as the jovial man strided into the room, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing Harry's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen...lady," he added nodding curtly at Fleur. Approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce - incredible though it may seem - the fourth Triwizard champion?_

_Krum angrily shakes his head, a frown crossing his features, "This is unacceptable, Hogwarts has two champions." His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry._

_Cedric gave a long slow whistle at the announcement, "Well damn, how ya do it Harry."_

_Harry shook his head negatively, "I swear Cedric, I didn't… I don't know…" _

_He let his answer hang helplessly._

_Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, voice as smooth as silk, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."_

_"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire! He is the fourth Champion."_

_Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned._

_"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "E cannot compete. E is too young."_

_"Well...it is amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the goblet...I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage...It's down in the rules you see, you're obliged...Harry will just have to do the best he -"_

"_Zats impossible," Fleur said standing up, just as the door blew open._

_Professor Dumbledore entered, robes billowing behind him in an unseen wind. The professor eyes twinkled madly in the flickering candlelit room, instantly putting Harry at ease. At his heel a stern looking Professor McGonagall strode purposely behind him, lips pursed together in slight irritation. Harry least favorite Professor came in next; Snape eyes found and located the young Potter, the Professor lips curled in a sneer. Mr. Crouch, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, arrived last._

'_It seemed they brought in everyone for my execution,' Harry thought sourly._

_"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"_

_Somewhere under Harry's numb disbelief he felt a ripple of anger. Little boy?_

"_Dumbledore," Madame Maxime fumed, "This is an outrage, Hogwarts cannot have two Champions."_

"_I concur," Professor Karkaroff agreed, "The boy must withdraw at once"!_

_Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled._

_"What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?" she said imperiously._

_"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions - or have I not read the rules carefully enough?_

_Professor Dumbledore held up his hands, silencing the two Heads, "Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, understand this is a delicate matter. It must be handled without rushing in haste."_

_Harry gave a grateful look at his headmaster; perhaps he had an ally after all. _

_Professor Snape face bequeathed volumes of his irritation, "It is quite obviously that Potter cheated somehow. The boy clearly has no regards of the rules of this school. It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here -"_

_"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair._

"_Of course," Karkaroff said as an eyebrow rose in realization, "The boy has cheated, it is obviously that somehow your age line has defected," pointy glaring at Dumbledore._

_Professor Dumbledore looked almost offended at the accusation, "I assure you Professor Karkaroff, my age line was not breached by Harry Potter."_

_"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" he asked calmly._

_"No," said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows._

_"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?" said Professor Dumbledore, ignoring Snape._

_"No," said Harry vehemently._

_"Ah, but of course 'e is lying!" cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling._

_"He could not have crossed the Age Line," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "I am sure we are all agreed on that -"_

_Ludo Bagman cleared his throat, "If not Harry, then who?"_

_Dumbledore eyes lost his twinkle for the moment, "Someone that wants him dead."_

_An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Albus, Merlin man...what a thing to say!"_

"_Zats orrible," Fleur voice started breaking as she held back tears, "hez only a little boy."_

_Little boy? Harry's bottom lip twitched at those words again._

_Cedric came up behind Harry, placing a friendly had upon his shoulders, "Is that true Harry, someone wants you dead."_

"_Aye," the last Potter whispered, "every year since I've been at Hogwarts I had someone trying to come after my life."_

"_He's an attention seeking, rule breaking hoodlum. He needs to be expelled from this school and have his wand snapped," Snap said with a sneer._

_Deputy Headmistress McGonagall looked at her colleague shocked, "Professor Snape!"_

_Mr. Crouch...Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, "you are our - err - objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?" _

_Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half-darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. _

_"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament." _

_"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed._

"_Regardless," Professor Karkaroff pushed on, "something must be done, and I vote we reenter names into the goblet so that each school has two champions!_

"_Excellent idea," said a gruff voice from the shadows of the door, "except for the tiny little problem that the Goblet flames have been extinguished." Professor Moody limped into the room, his magical eye swirling around, checking for anything foreign or dangerous, stopping only briefly to rest on Harry before continuing its scan._

_Professor Karkaroff looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth, "No one invited you here, Moody."_

"_I invited myself," Moody said limping over to a vacant chair and making himself at home._

_Angered Karkaroff looked at the two judges Crouch and Bagman," I refused to be part of any tournament where one of the schools has a clear and unfair advantage."_

"_What are you saying Professor?" Krum said, suddenly looking worried._

_Karkaroff balled a fist, "I am pulling Durmstrang out the competition."_

_"Empty threat, Karkaroff," Moody growled. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete._

_Karkaroff looked as if he swallowed something disgusting, "Then I will break the goblets magical contract!"_

"_My poor, dear, delusional man, "Ludo Bagman said, "that is quite impossible, the champions are bound by the Goblet of Fire to compete, or risk losing their magic."_

_Krum stood up sharply, "I refuse to lose my magic Professor, and I'll compete even if Hogwarts has two champions."_

"_Madame," Fleur said standing next to Krum, "__"We 'ave all be 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand Galleons prize money – zis is a chance many would die for!" Placing a hand upon her chest Fleur looked at the gathering before her, "We will compete, zee cannot stop zis."_

_Cedric walked over to the other champions, resolve firm, "I think that our answer is clear Professors, having another champion only makes it more fun," Cedric grinned mischievously. "And I believe he needs to stand with his fellow champions."_

_The hand Cedric held out to Harry seemed like a blessed release. The looks on Krum and Fleur's faces mirrored Cedrics. Maybe he had more allies then he thought, grabbing his hand Harry was pulled into the group of Champions._

_Moody limped forward, his eye swirling madly, "the only explanation I can think of is that somehow someone hoodwinked the Goblet into believing Harry is lone competitor from a fourth school."_

"_That is a very farfetched theory," McGonagall said crossing her arms in exasperation._

_"Ah, what evidence is there of that?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands._

_"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" said Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament...I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category..." _

_"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is - though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously..." _

_"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff - as you ought to remember..._

_"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly. Harry wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized "Mad-Eye" could hardly be Moody's real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction - Karkaroff's face was burning._

"_Mr. Crouch," Ludo Bagman said shocked, "Is that at all possible."_

_Crouch rubbed his chin pensively, "theoretically it is possible."_

_Snape snorted derisively._

"_I think," Harry said carefully, "That maybe whoever is trying to kill me by entering me in the Triwizard Tournament, will be surprised not to see a meek Harry Potter."_

"_There is only one path then," Dumbledore said, "all four champions must compete."_

"_Headmaster Dumbledore," Madame Maxime protested, "this is unjustly unfai-_

"_My dear lady," Dumbledore said, arms open wide, "what other choice do we have."_

_Madame Maxime leaned back silent, looking rather weary._ _Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited._

_Mr. Crouch addressed the champions, "the first task will be on November 24, it will test your daring. You are forbidden to ask for or accept help from your teachers," Looking rather tired he continued. "In the task you can only use your wands. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests. That is all." Mr. Crouch rubbed his eyes tiredly leaving the room._

"_Excellent," Dumbledore exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "I'm sure this discussion can wait for another time, but these children must be off to bed."_

_-Flashback end-_

Harry considers Moody's words; someone entered him into the Tournament to kill him. The obvious candidate is Voldemort, the only person in the world that wanted him dead. Who else has been trying to kill him since he was a baby?

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open as Harry stepped into the common room. Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he'd put himself in for the tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who'd had three years' more magical education than he had - when he was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, he'd thought about it...he'd fantasized about it...but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream...he'd never really, seriously considered entering...

_Articvatio_

"_Huh. Who said that?_

The blast of noise that met Harry's ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling.

"You should've told us you'd entered!" bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed.

"How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!" roared George.

"I didn't," Harry said. "I don't know how -"

But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; "Oh if it couldn't be me, at least it's a Gryffindor -"

"You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!" shrieked Katie Bell, another of the Gryffindor Chasers.

"We've got food, Harry, come and have some -"

"I'm not hungry; I had enough at the feast -"

"Great way to give it to the Hufflepuffs Harry-"

"No really, I didn't do it."

But nobody wanted to hear that he wasn't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn't put his name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn't at all in the mood to celebrate...Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak. Harry couldn't get away; whenever he tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around him closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on him, stuffing crisps and peanuts into his hands...Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get his name into the goblet...

"I didn't," he said, over and over again, "I don't know how it happened."

But for all the notice anyone took, he might just as well not have answered at all.

"I'm tired!" he bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour. "No, seriously, George - I'm going to bed -"

He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Insisting that he needed to sleep, and almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay him at the foot of the stairs, Harry managed to shake everyone off and climb up to the dormitory as fast as he could.

To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him.

"Where've you been?" Harry said.

"Oh hello," said Ron.

He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching Harry struggle to remove it.

"So," he said when Harry had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. "Congratulations."

"What you mean congratulations?" said Harry, staring at Ron. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace.

"Well...no one else got across the Age Line," said Ron. "Not even Fred and George. What did you use - the Invisibility Cloak?"

"The Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have got me over that line," said Harry slowly.

"Oh right," said Ron. "I thought you might've told me if it was the cloak...because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?"

"Listen," said Harry, "I didn't put my name in that goblet. Someone else must've done it."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"What would they do that for?"

"I dunno," said Harry. He felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, "To kill me."

Ron's eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair.

"It's okay, you know, you can tell me the truth," he said. "If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie; you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don't have to do end-of-year tests either..."

"I didn't put my name in that goblet!" said Harry, starting to feel angry.

"Yeah, okay," said Ron, in exactly the same skeptical tone as Cedric. "Only you said this morning you'd have done it last night, and no one would've seen you...I'm not stupid, you know."

"You're doing a really good impression of it," Harry snapped.

_Articvatio_

_There it was that word again._

"Yeah?" said Ron, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. "The boy-who-lived. The Great Harry Potter."

"What's that supposed to mean," Harry said, his anger rising.

"It always has to be you." Ron spat.

Harry balled his fists, "Dammit Ron, someone is trying to kill me. All you care about is fame and fortune."

"Coming from the guy who has it."

"You wool-headed fool, I don't want the fame, the attention. None of it!"

Ron's fiery mane haloed him like a burning sun of anger. "You're a talented liar harry." The smile on Ron's lips no longer forced seemly more at peace.

"I'm telling you the bloody truth!"

"Fuck you Potter!"

He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him.

_Articvatio_

_And what the hell did that word mean?_

Harry sat on his bed, staring at the hidden form of his best friend.

_This is a right blimey mess._

"Articvatio," Harry whispered, throwing caution to the wind.

Within the folds of his robe, his wand started to hum. Vibrating softly. Harry reached for his wand wearily, the Holly and Phoenix wand giving off a soft light.

Surprised Harry held it up, staring wondrously into the light. Within the confines of his mind, something whispered loud and clear.

"_Finally!"_

Then all was black.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

**So it's been over a year since I updated this story. Time sure does fly by. I keep telling myself tomorrow ill right the next chapter. Tomorrow turns into days, days turn into weeks, weeks into months. Ah well, I've more free time now, definitely more frequent updates. please review, flames and or words of encouragement :)  
><strong>

**Obsidians Twilight**


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